Our Time to Fly
by feeltheRUSH
Summary: New blood stirs unease in the constant motion of life in Manhattan, but the Clan faces a much more serious dilemma.


**I've been bitten by the Gargoyles bug! And I can't shake it. I mean, I've heard how good this show is, but I wrote it off because it was old. It wasn't till somewhere over Christmas break that I started watching it. It was kinda like love at first sight... well not really, but I liked the concept of guardian gargoyles. If only the finale wasn't complete and total suck.**

**So this is just practice of my writing ability, but I suppose everything is. Unlike my other fics, I actually plan on making a series out of this. It might only be two, three part long, I have no idea. But reviews and constructive criticism is always welcome.**

**I'm shamelessly using Ivy League colleges to try and remind myself that I should maybe start looking at colleges [cha. that tooootally happen] and an attempt to recreate that whole 'whats that river called?' 'hudson' 'i'm hudson now' moment in like the first episode. What if he asked what dumpster is called? Would we have a Trash Heap walking around instead of a Hudson? But I digress...**

**Princeton is my tribute to Beast Wars.**

**Gargoyles (c) Disney**  
**My not as cool original characters belong to me, unless otherwise specified.**

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Our Time To Fly

Rumors**  
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"This is Travis Marshall, asking 'what will these creatures do next?'"

As the camera was packed away and the van loaded, Travis Marshall cast a bewildered gaze around the street. Manhattan, by ancient tradition, was never a shining city. Litter decorated the sidewalks, condemned buildings were hidden beneath boards of splintering wood, and the beggars of the city roamed the streets in twos and threes. Tonight, however, the street the evening news had focused on was more of a disaster zone than usual. Cement was cracked, loose debris was scattered along the sidewalk, growing steadily worse as it got closer to the epicenter of destruction: Gen-U-Tech. Smoke rose slowly above the laboratories, a malevolent entity that blurred the outline of the demolished building like a censor. The Fire Department, God bless 'em, had contained the fire despite the risk of toxic fumes. Smaller flames around the premises were being attended to as the reporter gazed at the unreadable Gen-U-Tech sign.

But the marred landscaping wasn't the worst part. Oh no. It wasn't the rent light posts, the smashed mailboxes, or even the gutted building that worried Travis Marshall that night. According to the eyewitness accounts, the brilliant minds employed at Gen-U-Tech had been working on something sinister. Something… inhumane. And those inhumane somethings were the reason Travis Marshall and the rest of Manhattan entered the night with unease.

The sun began to set, light fled up buildings, like a curtain being drawn. Warm light raced away from the oncoming shadows, passing over a clock tower, leaving it in the soothing night. As the sun's dying rays disappeared, fierce some stone carvings guarding the clock face began to stir. The smallest among the statues seemed the most eager to hatch; cracks spider webbed up and down his frame before the muscles and sinew beneath flexed, shattering the hard shell. A shriek unlike any noise a mere human could make pronounced he gargoyle's revival. Lexington stretched, loosing any leftover stone skin.

More explosive cracks echoed around him, punctuated by roars and snarls of his brothers.

"I'm hungry," Broadway, the soft, blue green gargoyle announced. It was fitting that his sea green color was complimented by ears that were more like fins that framed the sides of his face. They perked up visibly, as he contemplated devouring a five course meal. Eliza kept them well supplied, since she partook in midnight snacking with her gargoyle clan. Eliza Maza was a 'dee-tek-tive' for the NYPD, whose headquarters was situated directly beneath the gargoyles' home.

"Surprise, surprise," Brooklyn, the passionate red, smirked, shaking out his mane of white hair. His voice was sarcastic, though the edge of his voice was dulled because he was talking to his brother. Brooklyn, Broadway, and Lexington made the Trio. Three rookery brothers who were bonded together in a relationship deeper than any regular friendship. They (usually) worked in a harmonized manner that was so coordinated, it was almost unsettling.

"Well," Lexington piped off-handedly, "while Broadway cooks, I'll be saving the Earth from alien invaders." The smallest of the clan loped away on all fours, bubbling with eagerness.

"Aliens. Hmph," Hudson, the eldest, graying member, grumbled, sheathing his omnipresent sword. An old scar crosses his left eye. His blind eye, inflicted in a battle more than a thousand years ago. The eldest clanmate was Goliath's predecessor, white hair and wise words revealing his age. Though, as Hudson frequently said, "wisdom does not always come with age, lad."

Their current leader, Goliath, towered above them, watching Lexington bowl over Bronx, the clan pet, in his haste. There was a sense of power that radiated from the luxurious lavender gargoyle, even when he simply stood. It could be from his powerful muscles that created an impression of united strength, his determined set of his jaw, or his dark hair billowing wildly around his face.

"Space invaders?" Broadway repeated, eyes flitting upward, expecting to find flying saucers and little green men; in a time of science, sorcery, and gargoyles, nothing was ruled out. He scooted hurriedly after Lexington, anxious to be out from under the open sky. The thickly built creature disappeared through a door set into the six of the clock face, opening into the gargoyles' den.

"It's just a new compu- oh, nope there he goes," Brooklyn let out sigh. Rolling his eyes, the red gargoyle slunk after them, his movements a tad more graceful than his rookery brothers.

Goliath chuckled, filled with a platonic fondness for his clan.

Over the centauries, she'd evolved. Her determination became ambition. Ambition to lust. Lust to jealousy. Jealousy to spite. The end result was the current Demona, fully-fledged and full of hatred. It fuelled her, gave her purpose throughout the long years. What else could she live for? Goliath and his sentimental view of a harmonious world of gargoyles and humans? Ha.

Gliding over the rooftops, the gargoyle's eyes searched hungrily for an winged silhouette, claw marks set in stone, frightened humans in or above Manhattan. She'd find whatever broke out of that human torture camp and bend them for her own purposes. A much happier fate, from her humble view point.

Wild hair streaming behind her, Demona's eyes started to blaze as her impatience began to build. Those Gen-U-Tech escapees shouldn't be _this_ hard to find. Beating her wings rapidly, she coasted on a thermal. Rising she found a better view of the obscure side streets and alleys below.

"Gah!" she screeched, red flashing from her eyes- a physical manifestation of her frustration. "Where are they?"

The golden female giggled. She looked and was built for speed. But that head of hers, it made her de facto leader worry. From their short time together, the leader (they had yet to give themselves names) had gathered there wasn't much to the yellow member of his group. Apparently she associated their stealth with some sort of game. The leader was displeased at her immaturity.

He was silver, built strong. Two powerful, feathered wings burst from his shoulders and his feet ended in curved talons. His upper half transitioned from feathers into fur and his face had a vague canine quality to it.

The other two members of their group, a dark orange female and a blue male, had taken a liking to each other, standing shoulder to shoulder. She was sleek, though there was a sinewy power nestled in her lean muscle. He had a brutish look about him, thick muscles, impressive horns. But he was not dumb. There was an intelligent sparkle in his eye.

"Come, comrades," the leader spoke, his words perfectly enunciated and his tone diplomatic. "We must continue our journey and seek a safe haven." He received no resistance from his fellow escapees. They trusted him.

And indeed, this place was not exactly homey. Among the overflowing trash bins, rabid vermin scuttled along the moist walls. The clean, noble gargoyles looked extremely out of place in the dank alleyway. The leader, with his canine sense of smell, was particularly affected by the stench curdling the air. Rotting foods, yellowing papers, and rat filth was all compounded into one potent smell.

The silver male strode for the alley's end, his long, handsome face poking out into the semi-light cast by the ajoining street's light posts. The couple glided to his flank, waiting in full shadow for his signal to take off on a rising thermal. The golden female, however, remained where she was. Her bright black eyes were sweeping the alley, like the squalid setting was a mildly interesting show. The leader supposed she was building up memories, trying to use some of the empty space that had once contained memories of another life. But her interest was ill-timed. Gen-U-Tech would send mercenaries and scientists after them, following any hint of a trail. Still, the golden female stooped to pick up a newspaper just as filthy as the walkway it rested on. The pages were stuck together, the ink smudged, and the entire thing was slightly soggy. Peeling away a single page with unexpected skill, the gold began scanning the page, reading hungrily.

"We should take leave of this place," the leader said, more authority behind his tone. His wings twitched, indicating his comrades should do the same. He empathized with the gold's desire for information, but they must keep moving. Risking detection was just that: a risk. And the leader was too fond of his comrades and his freedom to allow them to be jeopardized by a nighttime newspaper reading.

"D-d-dart. M-mouth," the golden whispered to herself, flipping open the pamphlet. Then half-shouting, "Dartmouth!"

"Hush," the large blue male said gently, the tips of his talons tracing over the other female's. She allowed the action. Her eyes flitted down to the point of contact.

"This lovely… thing has given me a name," the golden said, ignoring the call for silence. "Dartmouth."

The orange female slid away from her partner, prolonging his touch before she broke their closeness to stand aside Dartmouth. She peered over Dartmouth's shoulder, her reading abilities exceeding her sister's. Slowly, her eyes traveled down the page, translating the words silently, and voiced it aloud in a quiet purr of a voice, "'…crippling school programs even within the Ivy League colleges: Brown University… Columbia University… Cornell University… Dartmouth College… Harvard University… Princeton University…' the rest of the words are smudged." She sounded regretful.

"What are those?" the leader asked, curious, despite the urge to flee and find safety. After all, his brain was scarce of any useful information. Only basic instincts and a extended vocabulary. Memories, places, people… they had faded to a place he could no longer grasp.

"Names," the nameless female replied shortly, eyes studying a particular printed word. "Cornell," she said softly, looking up. The bulked up male gave a smile and a nod, reassuring her tentative choice, striding toward her holding out his claws. The newly named Cornell gave the approaching male a waspish look before smoothly handing him the paper. He gazed down at the list of names.

"Harvard," he rumbled, taking his own name. His eyes flashed white briefly, clenching the tattered page in his hand. Then he directed his gaze at his leader. As did Dartmouth and Cornell. They waited for him to take a title.

The leader looked at each in turn. Naming himself seemed… frivolous, but to please his peers, he would do so. With a resigned sigh, his claws gently plucked the yellowed newspaper from Harvard, bright eyes falling on one name instantly. "Call me… Princeton," he said firmly, as if he'd never imagined a word could fit him so perfectly.

"So… Princeton, are we to fly?" Dartmouth asked, pale wing membranes spreading wide, suddenly ready to leave, though it was because of her that they stalled in the first place. Her voice trilled like a birds, sounding vibrant and alive.

Princeton smiled nonetheless, eyes sparkling kindly. He was patient. "Yes, we shall fly." His eagle's wings fanned open, the motion making the sleek feathers ripple and glow slightly in the faint light. Harvard and Cornell mimicked him, opening their wings. With Princeton leading the charge, they sprinted out into the street and caught air, rising into the night sky.

"Hey guys, look at this!" Lexington slithered around the back of Broadway's armchair. His eyes were bright, watching the television screen. The Trio was in charge of guarding the clock tower tonight, while Bronx, Hudson, and Goliath patrolled the city.

Broadway jerked out of his food coma, his hand still in the popcorn bucket. Unpopped kernels spilled into his lap. Each member of the Trio was sensitive to the sound of one of his rookery brothers, even in the deepest of sleeps.

"If it's another reality dating show, I'm outta here," Brooklyn warned, peeling himself away from a yellowing newspaper. The decaying pages dropped unceremoniously to the ground, open to the classified ads. Nonetheless he settled himself behind Broadway's chair, lying his arms on it's headrest.

"Puh-lease, I've been outta that stage for nights," Broadway waved a hand still stuck at the bottom of the popcorn bowl. His voice, while deep and fitting in relation to his size, was gentle and young. Beneath his muscle and girth, he was childlike in his heart and mind.

Brooklyn sighed, tapping his finger on the blue's finned head. "Honestly, sometimes I think your mother must've dropped you when you were an egg."

"Shh!" Lexington hushed his rookery brothers, pointing at the screen with a claw.

"And this was the scene of the crime," a matter-of-fact voice narrated as the camera panned over the ruins of Gen-U-Tech. The scene onscreen switched to a frightened mother, clutching her son to her chest. "Eyewitnesses carry horrendous accounts of what transpired here tonight."

"Can you describe what came out of that building ma'am?" Travis Marshall appeared next to her, tilting a microphone toward her mouth.

Opening her thin lips, the woman started to speak, but her squirming toddler interrupted, "They're dragons! I saw'em! Wif wings 'n' ever'thin'!"

His mother gave a strained smile toward the camera, shoulders tensed. "Now, now Caleb. Hush," she soothed, stroking his forehead lovingly. But the excited boy continued to fret, tugging on her long brown hair. Even as the three-year old pulled at her scalp, she gave her timid memory for the reporter. "It _was _like a dragon. Only there were four. And two were big. Very big. They were all big. Big, flying monsters."

Travis Marshall looked grim. "You heard it here first, folks. More mythical hullabaloo is running rampant in the streets of Manhattan."

The TV shut off with a shudder of old age.

The Trio stared at the dark set with wide eyes.

"More gargoyles?" Brooklyn gasped, glancing at the equally awestruck Lexington and Broadway.

Xanatos steepled his fingers, having finishing the same news program as the gargoyle Trio.

"Interesting," the multi-trillionaire mused, pressing his lips to his finger. "Owen?"

His omnipresent servant looked up from the digital organizer he'd been tapping at. "Sir?" he asked, expression and tone tightly controlled.

"I need you to make a call."

"Leader," Harvard said softly, his hand holding the orange female's, "dawn is getting closer."

"True. But no place yet provides the security I need for my comrades," Princeton replied, a determined set in his jaw. He continued to scan the cityscape from their lofty position. Many of the building were adequate roosts for the day, but the leader wanted a place safe from the humans that hunted them.

"What about that tallish tower?" Dartmouth asked, peering into the distance. Following her gaze, the leader gave a nod. He could just make out the indicated skyscraper disappearing into the clouds, making it ideal for creatures like themselves. They needn't even climb to the top. A tucked-away alcove would do splendidly.

"A perfect sanctuary, friend," he complimented, veering off to his right. The skyscraper was directly ahead of them. The four began to climb steadily.

Cornell stiffened visibly, halting her climb, her beaked muzzle rotating from side to side. Her eyes squinted, searching the empty skies and trying to pierce through the overhanging cloud cover.

"What is it?" Harvard asked quietly, reaching out for her.

Batting it away, she continued to eye the clouds, "Saw something. Not sure what."

"Probably an arrow-plane," Dartmouth said knowledgably, performing a tight twirl when Princeton looked inquiringly at her. "It's a kind of… metal flying contraption."

"Quiet," the other female hissed, rigidly hovering in place, certain she had seen something.

Perhaps Cornell's anxiety was overflowing into him, but the leader felt some sort of uncertain feeling in the pit of his chest. "I have a most… foreboding feeling as well," Princeton agreed, pulling in his wings.

"And with good reason."

A blur of icy blue shot from the clouds. The following snarl echoed through the sky as another gargoyle rammed into Princeton, driving him downward with her clawed feet. The feathered gargoyle gasped before he plummeted. Taking his place at point, the newcomer smiled with pointed teeth at the remaining three fliers. She had wine red hair that framed her head and contoured her spine to her waist.

"There's been a change in management," she explained, keeping them all in rapt, horrified attention. Below, Princeton continued to fall, a few of his feathers becoming independent fliers, fluttering slowly after his shrinking form.


End file.
